


Words

by SpinningLenny



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinningLenny/pseuds/SpinningLenny
Summary: Crowley doesn't say it.





	Words

Crowley doesn’t say it.

This puzzles Aziraphale. The first time he tells Crowley that he loves him, the words taste like the sweetest manna in his mouth. And every time he says them afterwards (and he does, as often as he can), the words fill him with a joy he never thought possible.

But Crowley doesn’t say it.

Not that first time, nor any of the myriad times afterwards.

There is no doubt in Aziraphale’s mind as to Crowley’s feelings–he shows his love in a thousand ways every day, from a brush of hands, to a rare book he just happened to come across, to a surprise dinner at the most exquisite little restaurant that Aziraphale hasn’t even heard of. In fact, now that he allows himself to notice it, Aziraphale can’t help but realise that Crowley has been telling him of his love in his own way for a long, long time.

But Crowley doesn’t say it.

There are reasons for this, Aziraphale expects. Some he can guess at, some are a mystery–there is so much about his precious demon that he has yet to learn. He does not pry. They have all the time in the world now, and after Crowley has been so devotedly patient with him for all these millenia, the least Aziraphale can do is allow him to approach the matter at his own pace.

And he would, in all honesty, be perfectly content never to hear the actual words from Crowley’s mouth at all, except…

Except.

Crowley doesn’t say it.

But sometimes, when Aziraphale tells him of his love, there is a moment of start, an inhale and a twitch of lips as though Crowley is trying to say something but can’t quite bring himself to it. He always covers it with a kiss or a smile or a joke, but Aziraphale can feel the flicker of frustration underneath it. And so he attempts an experiment.

They are curled around each other, warm and content, breaths mingling in a single rhythm. Aziraphale nuzzles against Crowley’s neck and murmurs, “I do love you, so very much.” He sees the smile, feels a thumb stroking the back of his hand. Presses a soft kiss right underneath Crowley’s ear. “And you love me, too.”

Crowley inhales sharply, holds himself terribly still for a long moment. Then his whole body shudders, as though releasing a strain it has held far too long. He turns into Aziraphale’s embrace, holds on to him as though for dear life, his voice a choked and ragged thing fighting to be heard.

“I do, angel. I really, really do.”

Aziraphale holds him and kisses him and tell him that it’s all right, that he’s here, that he’s got him, and loves him so much he can hardly bear it.

Crowley doesn’t say it.

But that’s all right. Aziraphale can say it enough for both of them.


End file.
